


Open Your Eyes

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Claiming, Feels, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes our subconscious shows us things we'd rather not see.  Sometimes dreams can cause a rift.  Can you overcome something you can't control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Your Eyes

Clint awoke with the scream still building in his throat.

 

His eyes flew open, and his body jerked as though he’d been falling.  At first, all his eyes could see was the red covering everything; the floor, the walls, his hands.  It was the sight of his own blood-stained hands that had woken him, the panic setting in within those few moments between sleeping and waking, when his mind was still firmly entrenched in the dream.

 

 _Nightmare,_ Clint corrected himself.   _God damn fucking nightmare…_

 

He blinked the red from his vision as his breathing slowly calmed.  He wondered how much noise he’d made, if he’d wrapped himself in his sheets again with his struggling, only to find he was still in the same position he’d fallen asleep.

 

Curled beside him, with his head resting on Clint’s shoulder, Loki slept soundly, his hand resting on his chest.

 

The same place that damn scepter had touched him and started this whole downward spiral.

 

Clint felt the nausea begin to rise, as it usually did when these dreams taunted him.  He waited to see if it would pass, and when it didn’t, he gently lifted Loki’s hand and moved it aside, pushing himself upright as carefully and quietly as he could.  He didn’t want to wake the sleeping god.  He didn’t want to even look at him right now, much less speak to him.

 

Silently, Clint slid from the bed and reached for his discarded jeans.  He stepped into them carefully, one eye on the bed to watch for any signs of Loki stirring.  The god mumbled unhappily and curled tighter into himself at the loss of contact, and Clint ignored the aching in his chest at the sight.

 

He couldn’t stay in that bed with him any longer.

 

Hell, he didn’t want to be in the same _room_ with him right now.  The hate and loathing he’d harbored for Loki was still too close for him to be able to forget it so soon, and if he was honest, he wasn’t sure it would ever completely disappear.  There would always be some small part of him that hated the creature that had stolen his will and forced him to do his bidding.

 

Clint knew Loki was no longer that person; his time in Hel had seen to that, and Clint wouldn’t ever try to take that away from him.  But times like these, when his mind rewound itself back to those few days he’d been a puppet dancing on strings, he couldn’t forget how very much he’d hated him.

 

He had to get out of that room; had to put some distance between them before Loki woke and started asking questions.  He could deal with that later, after he’d taken the time for his head to clear and his emotions to even out.  But right now, in the wake of his nightmare, he thought it best to be alone.

 

There was really only one place he went at times like these.

 

The city was still noisy, even at this time of night, but it was easy to ignore it when it was so far below.  Clint watched the lights from his perch on the roof, and let his mind wander where it would.

 

Loki woke to an empty bed and a slight chill down his back.  The spot where Clint had been was cold to the touch, telling the god that his Hawk had been gone for quite some time.  Pushing himself upright, Loki’s gaze roamed across the room, noting that Clint’s pants were no longer in a heap on the floor.  The bathroom door stood open, the small space beyond devoid of any life, and no diffused light spilled down the short hallway from the living room or kitchen.  

 

Listening closely, Loki heard only the familiar noises of the deep night.  The muted traffic from the street below; the rattle and thump of the neighbors, but nothing from within the space he shared with Clint.  A small frown rose on his face then, realizing that he was alone in the apartment.  

 

He knew that Clint frequently grew restless; unable to find peace through sleep.  Loki had borne witness to the nocturnal struggles of the archer.  The strained cries and violent motions as he faced the demons his subconscious threw his way.  It troubled the god, and he had surmised that most of these demons capered and tormented Clint while wearing Loki’s own face.  Not that his Hawk had ever confirmed his suspicions.  But the way he refused to speak of the dreams, or even meet Loki’s gaze told the god all he needed to know.

 

In the short time they had been together, Loki had taken note of Clint’s habit of retreating to the roof whenever he was bothered, or needed to think something through.  Something about being above the madness that reigned at street level seemed to calm the archer; centering his mind and allowing him to regain his control.  If he was not somewhere within the small apartment, then it was a safe bet Loki would find him a few floors above, facing into the chill wind, eyes scanning the horizon.

 

Slipping from the bed, Loki retrieved his clothing and went in search of his Hawk.

 

Clint had lost track of how long he’d been up here, but the sky was starting to lighten and there were more lights coming on in the building across from him as people began to stir.  It must have been at least a few hours, but he couldn’t be sure.  Checking the clock hadn’t occurred to him when he left.

 

It didn’t matter, though, because his brain was being an asshole and kept replaying that damn dream over and over like a movie reel stuck on loop.  Every time he came to the end, he cursed himself for being so fixated on something that hadn’t even happened.

 

That was what he kept reminding himself; it _hadn’t_ happened.  He wanted to believe that it never would have, that Loki wouldn’t have followed through on that threat, that there was still some part of him, even then, that would have kept him from such a complete ruination of himself.

 

He wasn’t sure he could believe that.

 

Clint scowled into the burgeoning dawn, wondering why he couldn’t just let this go.  He’d come as close to forgiving Loki as he was ever going to get, he firmly believed he was different now, and yet he was still afraid of his words become reality.

 

But it wasn’t just Loki that had Clint unable to sleep.  It was the knowledge that he would have done it, had he still been under the thrall.  He _would_ have, with no hesitation, and if Loki had so ordered, he would have _enjoyed_ doing it.  He would have taken Natasha apart, piece by piece, until even her screams were only so much meaningless mouth-noise.  He would have done so without even batting an eye, and only when he was finished would Loki let him fully see what he’d done.

 

Clint gripped the railing beneath his fingers tightly, the cold of the metal leeching the heat from his hands the way his dreams were slowly leeching the sanity from his mind.  Times like these, he really wondered what he was doing with Loki; why he allowed himself to believe it was okay to let someone who had so totally ruined him get so close, burrow so deep beneath his skin.

It was an odd paradox that, no matter how unhealthy and damaging their relationship was, being without him would be a thousand times worse.

 

He’d risked so much already to keep Loki by his side.  It had cost him the trust of his command, his teammates, and his partner, but even despite the doubts, despite the dreams that still haunted him, having Loki with him was worth it.

 

He had to keep telling himself that, especially at times like these when all he wished for was that he’d never laid eyes on the fallen god.

 

There was the sound of movement from below, as a window was opened, and then the sounds of someone climbing the fire escape.  Clint sighed and turned back to the slowly-lightening horizon.  It seemed Loki hadn’t failed to notice he was missing, and had come looking for him.  He wasn’t ready to face him yet, or the questions he was sure to pose.

 

When the dark head peered over the edge of the roof and those curious, concerned green eyes landed on him, Clint pointedly avoided making eye contact.  He barely acknowledged Loki was there at all, and his teeth ground together when the god failed to heed the subtle signs and climbed up onto the roof to carefully approach him.

 

His spine stiffened the nearer Loki came, and by the time he came to a stop beside him, Clint’s knuckles were white on the railing and his teeth were steadily grinding together.

 

Glaring at the first light of the sun arcing above the city, Clint stayed silent, and waited for what Loki would say.

 

Loki could see the white-knuckled grip Clint had on the railing, and his eyes were drawn to the repetitive clench and release of the archer’s jaw muscles.  The portrait Clint painted was one of a man barely holding himself in check; a tightly coiled spring nearing its breaking point.

 

The god held his tongue as he continued to surreptitiously study the man at his side.  The knit brow and narrowed eyes spoke of a long suffering anger; a wrong that had been turned over and examined so very often that it had become a familiar pain.  And with that realization, he knew exactly what mental scene had ripped Clint from slumber and sent him to find solace on the rooftop.  

 

Flashing back to their second conversation, Loki heard Clint’s deceptively calm voice in his head as he said, _“I heard everything._   _What you had planned for me to do to her.  I have nightmares about that, when I manage to sleep.  And every time I wake up from them, I hate you just a little bit more.”_

 

Loki’s stomach turned and while he now knew the impetus behind his Hawk’s simmering rage, the knowledge brought him no closer to knowing how to _fix_ it.  The idea that there still lived a shred of hatred, hidden somewhere deep inside Clint’s heart, ate away at Loki.  That heart that he had felt thundering against his own; that heart that lulled him to sleep thumping out its steady rhythm under his palm.  It brought an ache to the god’s throat to think that Clint still harbored such a deep hatred, even after all they had shared.

 

Slipping his hands around the railing, Loki leaned forward and surveyed the city spread out before them, looking so clean in the newly born dawn.  The sins of the previous day washed away by the golden light, to be replaced by the promise of a fresh start.  

 

It made the god wonder if he would ever earn such a thing from his Hawk.

 

Loki’s silence was almost as bad as anything he could have said.  His presence beside Clint, with no hint as to what he was thinking, didn’t do anything to set his mind at ease.  The tension in his shoulders mounted the longer he stayed silent, his jaw began to ache from the repeated grinding of his teeth.

 

Why wouldn’t he say anything?  It wasn’t as if Clint had _invited_ him up here, and as romantic as most people would think it was, watching the sun rise together was not something Clint would have chosen if he could help it.  Nothing about this morning was going anything like the way he wanted.

 

There was one thing he could say, however; Loki’s silent presence had put a stop to that damn dream replaying over and over in his head.  He had something to focus on, now, a target he could actually see.

 

It was several long minutes before either of them spoke, part of him waiting to see of Loki actually had something to say.  When he stayed silent, Clint decided he’d had enough.

 

“What are you doing up here, Loki?”

 

Loki slid his gaze to Clint’s glowering visage, mouth gone slightly dry at the tone of the archer’s words.  He was obviously seething just beneath the surface, and the god searched for the right combination of words to keep from escalating the situation.

 

“I awoke and you were gone,” he said carefully; quietly.  ”I was…worried something had happened.”

 

Clint snorted, turning his face away from Loki’s searching eyes.  Something _had_ happened.  Maybe not quite in the way the god meant, but the impact; the feeling of threat was just as real as any he’d ever felt in the field.

 

“It was that dream, was it not,” Loki asked in a strained voice.  ”The one you told me of in our early days.  The one that freshens your hatred of me?”

 

Clint felt Loki’s words like a knife in the gut.

 

He didn’t hate Loki.  He _didn’t._  He hated what he’d turned him into. He hated the twisted monster who orchestrated every moment of his downfall.  He hated that he could be used so callously, tossed aside so easily, discarded as soon as his usefulness was exhausted, and then left to twist in the wind as he had been.

 

He hated, yes, but his hatred was not even mostly reserved for Loki.  Not anymore.

 

How to say all this, though, in a way that made sense?  It didn’t even make sense to Clint, he couldn’t translate it into words that would make it easier for Loki to understand why his mind kept forcing him back into that dark place over and over again.

 

He couldn’t say all of this, so he chose instead to simply answer the question.

 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with trying to hold back all that he didn’t know how to say.  “It was.”

 

And so his fears were confirmed.  

 

Clint was still plagued by the dream in which Loki made him a monster; forcing him to unspeakable acts against those he held dear.  The ache in Loki’s throat intensified and his eyes briefly closed against the harsh early morning sun, which had just moments ago seemed so lovely.  

 

Strange how three little words could change everything.

 

Turning his back to the horizon, the god looked down at his hands, remembering the feel of the scepter; how the power of the Tesseract had pulsed through him.  He remembered the half-mad joy at being able to bend others to his will; of opening their minds to his desires.  

 

And not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been better to allow the Other to end him before his madness had tainted this realm.

 

“I am sorry,” Loki murmured.  ”It pains me greatly to know that you are still haunted by my thoughtless actions.”  Clint remained silent, and Loki sighed before continuing.  ”I had hoped that what we now share would have…lessened the damage.  Perhaps soothed your troubled mind just the smallest bit.”

 

Clint said nothing, and Loki was afraid to look at his Hawk, afraid of what he would see in the man’s eyes.  So instead he trained his gaze upon his treacherous hands and cursed himself a fool for ever thinking that the wounds he had inflicted upon Clint could be fixed so simply.

 

Clint had to look away, steeling his gaze somewhere off into the distance before he could betray himself with how deep those words wounded him.

 

He _knew_ Loki was sorry.  He’d proven it time and again in his efforts to earn Clint’s trust.  And for as terribly as his dreams still affected him, Clint did find himself more at peace with Loki by his side than he’d ever felt before.

 

It was this that caused the bitter resentment in him.  With all of the progress they’d made, with everything they now were to each other, why couldn’t he just _let this go?_  Why did he have to hang on to this one last thread of hatred when he was so ready to sever it completely?

 

His anger at himself, more than anything, was what drove him to seek solitude in the early hours before dawn, hoping that by some miracle, he could finally say to himself that he forgave Loki for all he’d done, for all the pain and suffering and torment he’d caused.  That the rift within his mind was now mended.

 

Then the dreams would come, and rip open the fresh scab, and the blood would ooze out to taint everything he’d thought was good in his life, and he would be right back where he started.  He’d never wished for a scar so badly in his life.  Proof that he was healed from this.  That it was done, that he could finally move on.

 

But it wasn’t.  He didn’t know if it ever would be.

 

Loki was waiting for him to speak.  Clint didn’t know what he expected him to say.  If he told him the truth, it would only cause him more hurt.  If he lied, then he was hurting them both.

Finally, he let out a harsh sigh, still not looking in the god’s direction.

 

“I know you’re sorry,” he said, his words stilted and forced.  “I know you want to fix me.  I wish it was that easy.”

 

Then Clint turned to face him.  “I came up here for a reason.  I think you should go back inside.”

 

“Forgive me for intruding,” Loki whispered, eyes still downcast.  ”I shall leave you alone.”  

 

He pushed away from the railing and moved toward the fire escape, and as he did, that destructive little voice in his head gleefully chanted, _‘Hates you hates you still your Hawk hates you never be good enough never be forgiven sending you away all for naught ALL FOR NAUGHT’_

 

Loki bit down sharply on the tip of his tongue, the coppery taste of blood paired with the bright flare of pain chasing that hated voice back into the dark corners of his mind.  It would do him no good to give heed to those barbed words, as they led only to heartache and tears.  And if the god were to give in to either of those things, he would rather surrender out of Clint’s line of sight.

 

As he entered the apartment, the wave of melancholy that had been threatening crashed down upon him, leaving the god trembling.  His thoughts roiled; should he return to his own dwelling?  Did Clint even want him here any longer?  Would it have been better to have stood his ground and attempted to talk?  

 

Suddenly overwhelmed, and at a loss as to what to do, Loki simply crossed the room and slipped back into the bed.  He pulled the blanket up to block out the cursed sun, and curled in upon himself, wracked by deep, shuddering breaths that danced on the edge of beings sobs.

 

As soon as Clint heard Loki’s parting words, he knew it was a mistake to send him away.  He watched him leave, noting the slumped set of his shoulders, the slow, heavy tread of his footsteps, and he knew that he’d done more damage with those few words than he ever would have with anything else he might have said.

 

Loki’s name was on the tip of tongue, just waiting for him to call the god back, to give him the assurance he so desperately needed that Clint wasn’t going anywhere; that he didn’t hate him, but only needed his space to think things through.

 

But when had over thinking _ever_ worked out for him?  He worked better in the moment, when there _was_ no time to think, when he was driven by instinct and intuition rather than what his mind came up with during the night.

 

He could admit to himself when he was being a coward, and now was one of those times.  This couldn’t sit any longer, he’d been holding on to this for _months,_ he was tired of keeping things from the one person he knew he didn’t have to keep secrets from.

 

Clint had spent so much time trying to keep Loki from any more reminders of what he had been that he hadn’t realized that he was hurting them both by clinging to something neither of them had any reason to hold on to.  And Loki needed to know that.  Clint needed to _tell_ him that.

When he made his way back inside, he wasn’t particularly surprised to see Loki had retreated back to bed, swaddled in the blankets as if they were a force field.

 

It would have been endearing if those blankets hadn’t been shaking and muffling the sound of barely-suppressed sobs.

 

Clint crossed the room and was beside the trembling, distressed god before he could even form the thought to move.  His hands hovered over the blankets, unsure if he would be welcomed or shunned should he touch him.

 

 _Fuck it,_ Clint thought to himself, _if he punches me, I deserve it._

 

He let his hands rest on Loki’s heaving shoulders and felt the tremors even through the layers of blankets.  At his touch, the body beneath them stilled, all motion and sound ceasing in that one instant.

 

Clint leaned forward and rested his forehead between the god’s shoulders, gripping his upper arms firmly.

 

“ _Please don’t,_ ” he whispered, grinding his forehead harder against the once-more trembling body.   _“_ I’m sorry, Loki…”

 

Curled under the blankets, Loki struggled to not give in fully to the crushing guilt; the intense self loathing that came with the memories of his actions.  So much loss, so much ruin, and for what?  To feed his misguided ego and provide him opportunity to regain his status as King?  Oh, and how _well_ that had gone.  

 

Uttering a hollow laugh, Loki pulled Clint’s pillow against his chest, feeling the need to cling to something, anything, lest this feeling of isolation break him apart.  

 

And wasn’t that now his greatest fear?  Was that not what haunted his own dreams; providing the god with his own night-time tribulations?  Isolation; solitude; being cast back into the realm of Hel to wander alone once more.  Perhaps the most troubling was the knowledge that to return to a solitary existence now would prove to be more painful than it had before.  Having had his Hawk at his side, no matter for how brief a time; having been accepted and shown care would just make the sting of once more being alone that much harder to bear.

 

It was that thought more than any other that broke the god down, and allowed the sobs to take hold.  He shook with them, the pounding of his heart so loud in his ears that he failed to hear Clint’s approach; becoming aware of the archer’s presence only when he laid his hands upon him.  

 

Loki froze then, a myriad of emotions washing through him as Clint’s hands slid down to grip his arms, and he leaned into his back, whispering gentle pleas and apologies to soothe the god’s sorrow.

 

“You are not the one that should be asking forgiveness,” Loki said, his breath hitching in his chest as his tremors slowly subsided.  ”You have done me no wrong, Clint.  I just wish I could say the same.”

 

Clint shook his head against Loki’s back and pulled him closer, held him tighter.

 

“No, I’m doing this wrong,” he said, his voice strained.  “I’ve been doing this wrong from the beginning.”

 

Loki stayed silent, his breaths like jagged glass, and each one scraped across the guilt Clint felt at having failed him so miserably that he was reduced to _this_.  Clint’s bed had seen more than its’ share of Loki’s tears.

 

“I’m sorry, Loki,” he said again, muffling his voice against the blankets.  “I should have told you about this from the beginning.  I thought I could handle it.  I thought it would go away.  They’re just dreams, right?”

 

Even as he said it, Clint knew there was no such thing as _just_ dreams.  If they were just dreams, he wouldn’t seek solace from them on the roof in the dark hours of the morning because he couldn’t stand to share a bed with the fragile, broken god shaking in his arms right now.  If they were just dreams, they wouldn’t hold the power to put such a strain on the bond they’d managed to form, despite _everything_ they’d come through.

 

Clint knew they weren’t just dreams, but he had to make himself believe that.  Because the terrified creature in his arms would never make them a reality.  He believed that, so why couldn’t he let the dreams go?

 

As Clint’s arms tightened around him, Loki felt the shaking begin to ebb.  The muffled words of his Hawk served to calm him further, the previous sting of hatred gone from his tone, and he tamped down the fear of abandonment that he had allowed to run rampant.  

 

“They may be ‘just dreams’,” Loki said in a small voice.  ”But they carry the weight to color how you see me; to give rise to that hatred that lived within you for so very long.”

 

Clint tugged the blankets down from around Loki’s head, uncovering a tangled nest of ebony hair that he smoothed as he murmured, “I know.  But I can’t stop them.  I would if I could.”

 

Loki released a shuddering breath and leaned back into Clint’s embrace, the hard press of the archer’s chest and the thump of his heart, even through the swaddling of the blankets, lessening the god’s anxiety.  He nodded, acknowledging Clint’s words, and then paused for a long moment before saying, “I-I just fear that someday the hatred will become too well fed.  That if these dreams continue on as they have, then it will kill whatever…affection you have for me.  I do not wish to lose you, Clint.”

 

 _Lose me?_ Clint thought.   _Where’s he think I’m gonna go?_

 

But he already knew the answer to that.  It was not where he thought _Clint_ would go, but himself.  Out of Clint’s life, back to the lonely existence he’d eked out for himself, alone and still wracked with guilt and regrets.

 

And Clint?  Still on his leash, still not trusted, barely getting through the days without anything to look forward to.  He wondered how he’d ever managed to make it through his life before Loki wandered back into it.  There really was nothing for him now but this.

 

“You won’t lose me,” Clint assured him, pulling him tight to his chest.  “This is just something I need to work out.  I don’t hate you, you have to believe me.  Even when I dream that I do, it feels wrong.”

 

Loki said nothing, merely relaxed into Clint’s arms, taking in all he’d said.  Clint hoped he would understand what he was trying to say.  There _was_ something dark inside him now that hadn’t been there before; Clint now knew the depths of his own capacity to hate, and Loki was the one who had shown him.

 

Yes, at one time, he’d hated the god in his arms with every fiber of his being.  Not even Natasha knew just how deeply his hatred ran.  He’d scared himself with the intensity of his own hatred, but he _had_ felt it.  Loki knew this, he was sure, or else he wouldn’t have such fear of being cast aside, of being hated that deeply again, after having had what he wouldn’t even let himself wish for.

 

But alongside the hatred was something else entirely, and it made that darkness in him a little less terrifying.  Finding the balance between the two was the tricky part.  Most times, he could manage it, and he was able to put that darkness off to the side and ignore it completely when he chose.

 

When he let his guard down, when he least expected it, the darkness would swing back with alarming accuracy and hit him where it hurt the most.  Times like those, he would seek his solitude until he could find that balance again.

 

Those times were becoming less frequent lately; it seemed since they’d reached this… arrangement, the darkness was finding fewer reasons to linger.  It was by no means vanquished entirely, or else why these dreams?

 

It always came back to the dreams.  In the light of day, they seemed so surreal.  Clint was even now having trouble recalling it very clearly.  It was mostly the emotional toll they took on him.  He wasn’t built for this kind of thing, his coping mechanisms hadn’t evolved to even remotely handle what his mind kept throwing at him.

 

The result was that he fucked things up on such a grand scale there wasn’t even a name for it.

 

He was tired, _so_ tired, of having to keep his guard up all the time.  It was one thing when defending against someone else, but against himself, it was always harder, more exhausting and damaging than anything else he’d ever done in his life.

 

Loki lay in the circle of Clint’s embrace, drinking in the assurances offered by the archer, and he felt the darkness in his mind receding with each word.  His Hawk did _not_ hate him; would _not_ cast him out to wander alone once more.  

 

And as the soothing promises drove away the crippling melancholy, Loki turned in Clint’s arms and leaned his forehead against Clint’s own.  The god’s hands came up to press on that broad chest, feeling the steady beat of the mortal’s heart under his right palm.

 

“I believe you,” Loki murmured, poison green eyes locked with steel blue.  ”I do.  But you must understand that there is nothing I dread more than your hatred.  I…sometimes dream that you stand before me with nothing to offer beyond that.”

 

Loki searched Clint’s gaze as the archer digested his words, the heart beneath his hand thumping all the harder.  And suddenly that desperation was once more in Loki’s head, his thoughts in turmoil.  The urge to speak on; to try and explain the morass of emotions that ran through him was overwhelming, but Loki caged the words behind his teeth, that familiar ache growing once more in his throat.

 

Why could he not simply allow himself to accept Clint’s reassurances?  

 

Why must he continually think himself unworthy and unwanted?  

 

Yes, he believed all that his Hawk had said.  But deep down the god also believed that one day Clint would realize his mistake and withdraw completely.  And that was something that Loki could not bear to contemplate coming to pass.

  
  
A lot of things were beginning to make sense after Loki’s confession.  Clint hadn’t considered that Loki’s own nightmares might have anything to do with him; he’d always thought they’d had to do with his exile, and he’d thought it best not to ask him about what he saw in the night when he woke in a cold sweat, his heart stuttering frantically and almost feral with the need to reassure himself that Clint was still there. 

 

It also would explain why the god always acted as if every disagreement, no matter how slight, might push Clint away from him.  He knew now why he was always so quick to apologize for the tiniest slight, real or imagined, and why, when Clint  _was_  truly angry, he became so quiet and withdrawn.

 

He feared Clint’s hatred so much that he was reading the end of the world in the slightest hint of a scowl.  Each harsh word Clint used against him was another nail in the coffin.  How many times had he wounded the shattered remains of Loki’s soul without even realizing it?  How many times had he broken his promise to himself that he wouldn’t be like all the others who had hurt him?

 

Clint loathed himself for still holding on to that last sliver of hatred, because as long as he still carried that darkness within him, he couldn’t honestly lay Loki’s fears to rest.  He couldn’t tell him that his hatred would never return, because it had never really left.

 

It pained him even more that Loki probably knew it.

 

How could he fix this?  He knew there had to be a way, because they’d gotten this far already.  It wasn’t easy for either of them, but there was no denying they made some fucked-up kind of sense.  Aside from the obvious physical attraction, they both found they wanted the same things, and felt no need to hide anything about themselves from the other.

 

Except this one thing that could very well bring everything crashing down around them.

 

Clint swallowed the aching lump in his throat at the very thought of losing Loki to this, and his arms twined around the god’s body to draw him close.  Sliding one hand into Loki’s hair, he held his gaze and tried to put every bit of conviction in his voice.

 

“Even if I did hate you, Loki, there’s too much else that I feel for you to let that be all there is _,_ ” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “That will never be _all_.  If you can’t accept anything else, at least believe  _that._ ”

 

Loki’s heart nearly stopped at Clint’s quiet whisper, the emotion in his words burning through the haze of self loathing that swirled through the god’s mind.  

 

He knew what he felt for his Hawk; knew that the ache in his heart went far beyond mere infatuation.  And there was no denying the lust for one another.  But Loki had frequently wondered _exactly_ how deep Clint’s feelings for him ran.  If he was no more than a temporary distraction; simply a willing bed partner, or if there were something more.  

 

To hear Clint speak in what was, for him at least, such plain terms, finally answered the god’s questions, and wiped the remainder of doubt from his thoughts.

 

Slipping his arms around Clint’s back, Loki murmured, “Thank you.  You’ve no idea what it means to me to hear you say such things.  I know you have no control over your dreams; no more than I have over mine.  And while I hate the fact that they plague you still, I can bear their existence as long as I know you feel…more than that hatred.”

 

Clint let out a relieved sigh when Loki returned his embrace and closed his eyes against the top of the god’s head.  He wasn’t much for cuddling, at least not unless there was something _else_ going on, but it seemed he was making several exceptions where Loki was concerned.  He would let him have this as long as it meant an end to this bout of self-loathing they’d both managed to sink into.

 

He still couldn’t manage to shake his guilt over not being able to give Loki the real assurance he really needed.  Even now, Clint could still feel that darkness trying to spread, trying to intrude on this all-important moment between them.

 

Clint just gripped Loki tighter still and breathed in the scent of him; it seemed to push the darkness back a little, until he was once again able to ignore it in favor of listening to the slowly-calming breathing of the god in his arms.

 

“I don’t want you to think about me hating you at all, but I know that’s always going to be a thing between us,” Clint murmured into Loki’s hair.  “I just want you to know, that’s not even mostly what I feel for you.  Okay?”

 

“Yes,” Loki murmured, his warm breath fanning over the skin of the Clint’s throat. “I can see that now.  For too long I have let fear rule me.  Fear that you would eventually give in to the hatred that lurks still in your heart.  But that is not the case.  If it were, then you would be growing more distant with each day.”

 

The god pressed a soft kiss to Clint’s throat before continuing.  ”If your hatred of me were taking over, then I doubt you would want me sharing your bed each night.  Or allow me to touch you as I do.”  

 

Loki’s hand slid down to Clint’s hip, tugging the archer flush against him and whispering, “And if you _truly_ hated me, I do not think you would enjoy touching me nearly as much as you seem to…”

 

Clint voiced a soft moan as Loki pressed against him, the god’s hips rolling languidly, providing a teasing friction.  Loki nuzzled under his chin, and then stretched up to capture Clint’s mouth in a greedy kiss, swallowing the archer’s quiet cries.

 

 _There_ was the Loki Clint was used to, and he would be lying if said he wasn’t relieved that his assurances seemed to be enough bring him back out.

 

With an impatient growl, Clint pulled the blankets from between them until their bare chests could press against each other, and his hands roamed the expanse of pale skin as Loki rocked his hips into him.  Even through the layers of their clothing, Clint could feel him beginning to harden, and swallowed the god’s quiet whimpers when he responded with a hard buck of his hips into the other.

 

“Got me all figured out, don’t you?” Clint breathed against Loki’s mouth when he pulled back for a breath.  “You’re right about one thing.  I _do_ enjoy touching you…”

 

And with that, his hand slipped around to the front of Loki’s half-undone pants and gave a firm squeeze to the stiffening flesh between his legs.  Loki’s breath hitched, then fell from him in a low, shuddering moan, and he pressed forward into Clint’s grasp, his nails dragging up the skin of Clint’s back hard enough to sting.

 

Clint growled low in his throat and rolled the god onto his back, pinning him to the bed with his weight, and let his hand move over the front of Loki’s pants until he was whimpering and writhing beneath him.  Only when Loki whispered his name against the skin of his throat did Clint let his fingers slip beneath the waist of his pants to tease his arousal.

 

“I dream about this sometimes, too, y’know,” Clint murmured into Loki’s ear, wrapping his fingers tightly around the straining flesh.  “Way more often, actually.”  A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest when Loki whimpered and pushed his hips up into Clint’s grasp.  He gave the length a slow, teasing stroke and bit down at the gentle slope of Loki’s shoulder.  “Don’t tell me you don’t have dreams like that about me.”

 

“I-I have dreamed about you in that manner for an age, my Hawk,” Loki gasped, hips twitching at the languid motions of Clint’s hand around his cock.  ”Years and years of all I would do if but given the chance.”  Twining his fingers in the archer’s short hair, Loki tugged his head back to meet those steel-blue eyes with a heated stare.  ”None could compare to the reality though.  Of feeling your hands upon me; of having you buried deep within my body.”

 

The god’s head ground back into the bed, hitching cries bubbling from his throat as Clint’s grip firmed around his length.  Their eyes remained locked as the smaller man’s hand moved faster, adding a teasing, twisting motion on the upstroke.  Loki panted raggedly and slid his free hand down to press against Clint’s own heavy arousal, thrilling at the feel of how hard the archer was; how excited he’d grown from no more than mere touching.

  


Clint’s teeth pressed into his lower lip, and he hissed at the feel of Loki’s hand upon him.  Arching into the god’s touch, he swore softly as Loki’s slender fingers manipulated the snap on his jeans open before slipping inside to wrap around his thick flesh.  

 

“And this,” Loki murmured.  ”When your need is so blatant, I cannot help but be reassured as to your true feelings.”  Loki tugged Clint down to lick across his gasping mouth.  ”It shows me how wanted I truly am.”

 

Clint swallowed back the tightness in his throat he felt whenever Loki talked about how much he wanted him.  The idea that Loki had been pining for him for so very long did things to him he couldn’t quite explain.  He knew there was no way he could really fathom the idea of spending centuries being punished as Loki had been, but the thought of him spending what few peaceful moments he _did_ have thinking of him wreaked so many different kinds of havoc on his emotions, he wasn’t sure _what_ to feel.

 

Why him?  Why, out of all the people Loki had known in his long life, did his thoughts keep returning to Clint?  What about him had so enamored the god?

 

Well, his body knew praise when it heard it and had no trouble responding, to Loki’s words and touch both.  As his tongue lapped across Clint’s mouth, he seized it with nipping teeth and drew him in for another kiss.

 

It didn’t matter why Loki wanted him; it was clear that he _did_ , and just how much, and he firmly told himself to stop over thinking things again and just take what Loki was offering for what it was.  He had his hand down his pants, his tongue in his mouth and he was moaning and writhing beneath him like a whore.  Wondering why that was didn’t really serve Clint’s interests very well at the moment.

 

“I always want you,” Clint said after thoroughly claiming that nimble tongue.  His hand, trapped within the confines of Loki’s pants, gave a sudden, tight squeeze.  The god mewled and twisted his hips, firming his own grip on Clint’s arousal.  Clint groaned into his ear before whispering into it.  “How do you want me to show you?”

 

Loki gave a needy little moan at Clint’s words, his mind cycling through all the things he wished for his Hawk to visit upon him.  Truth be told, he had yet to find any action of Clint’s displeasing, and the archer never failed to satisfy fully.  

 

Clint had had the god in every way; had kissed, licked and bitten every square inch of pale flesh.  Had sunk deep within Loki’s clenching heat and fucked him into a trembling, panting mess of pure animal instinct, driven only by need.  And all the while Loki had begged for ‘ _More; harder; deeper Clint! **Please**!’_

 

Looking up at the man above him with hooded eyes, pupils so blown by lust that they nearly eclipsed the bright green iris, Loki asked demurely, “Will you use your mouth upon me, Clint?”  He gave another twisting pull at his Hawk’s thick length, stroking his fingertips around the head before gripping tightly again.

 

“Oh… _fuck_ ,” Clint gasped, hips bucking into the tunnel of Loki’s fist.  ”Anything you want…all you gotta do is ask.”

 

Drawing back, Clint quickly stripped Loki’s pants from him, leaving the god sprawled across the sheets fully exposed.  Drinking in the sight of that long, lean frame bared just for him sent a shock of lust straight to Clint’s cock.  He twitched in anticipation, his arousal trapped within his suddenly far too tight jeans, and the archer’s tongue slicked over his lower lip as he bent down over the waiting god.

 

There was no mistaking this feeling now, as Clint hovered over Loki’s body, his eyes raking over all of that pale skin.  Like a predator over its prey, Clint pinned Loki with his gaze, and the one word repeating over and over in his head was, “ _Mine.”_

 

He began with teasing licks across the god’s hips, licking a path from the left to the right and back again, nipping along the way.  He sucked a bruise into the skin just below his navel, and that had Loki pushing his hips from the bed with a strangled wail before Clint pushed him back down, pinning him to the mattress before he continued his assault.

 

Loki’s hitching breaths and shuddering moans let Clint know what he liked best, and he filed those spots away in his memory.  The sounds Clint was able to wring from him were nothing short of maddening.  To think he could bring him to this with nothing but his mouth only fed Clint’s ego even more.

 

When finally he was done teasing, Clint licked along the underside of Loki’s cock, pressing the flat of his tongue hard against the rigid flesh before flicking the very tip against the sensitive head.  Loki’s hips tried to leave the bed again, and Clint had a hard time restraining him, though the struggle brought a smirk to his mouth as he wrestled him back down.

 

“Relax, Princess, I haven’t even started yet.”

 

“And this,” Loki panted as Clint pressed him back to the bed, “is why I asked for your mouth.  You’ve barely begun and already I’m on the verge of spilling.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Clint rumbled, eyes flashing.  ”Not until I say.  And definitely not before I’ve had my fill.”  And with that, the archer slid his mouth over the head of Loki’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and sucking harshly before opening his throat to take the god deep.

 

The howl Loki voiced sent shivers down Clint’s spine, and he stroked his tongue up the underside as he pulled off, flashing that cocky grin Loki’s way before swallowing him down again.  Loki’s hips bucked up, burying his length fully down his Hawk’s throat.  The god’s eyes rolled back as his hands flew to twine in Clint’s hair, holding tight as he fucked the archer’s pliant mouth.

 

Clint growled around the flesh filling his throat, the vibrations ripping a ragged cry from Loki, and his hips stuttered as he tried to hold back.  The urge to surrender to the wet heat of Clint’s mouth was nearly overwhelming, and the tension coiled at the base of Loki’s spine was an insistent throb.  

 

“Oh…that _mouth_ ,” Loki moaned.  ”So very talented you are…”

 

The beast inside Clint purred at the excess of praise that never failed to fall from Loki’s mouth at times like this.  It was just proof that there was so much more between them than what their dreams could dredge up.

 

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Loki he dreamed of this, and quite often, too.  Nearly every night, in some way or another, he would have Loki begging, moaning, pleading for release.  Even on nights that were beginning to fade into mornings, after having had each other as thoroughly as their bodies would allow, Clint would dream of Loki spread out beneath him.

 

It made every other bed partner he’d ever had seem like amateurs by comparison.  No one had ever been able to capture Clint’s attention like this, and he doubted anyone else ever would.

 

The sounds Loki was making as Clint took him deep, nearly choking himself on the thick, rigid flesh, were calling to that beast within, enticing it to claim him completely.  And he would… in time.  Right now, though, there was this; Loki was trying to hold back, and Clint was determined to make it worth the struggle.

 

Those hitching breaths that signaled the god was nearing his end were wracking his body, and Clint took him deep one last time, holding himself there for as long as his body could go without air before he pulled back, dragging his tongue firmly against the pulsing flesh as he retreated.  Loki’s breaths became near-sobs of frustration, and his eyes gazed up at Clint pleadingly, the fingers in his hair tugging as if to encourage him into finishing what he’d done such a good job of starting.

 

“Not yet,” he panted, his voice rough from the abuse of Loki’s cock.  “Like I said, not until I’ve had my fill.”

 

And with that, Clint rose back up to his knees, kneeling between Loki’s spread thighs, and ran his hand over the hard line of his own erection.  He gave Loki a pointed stare, and waited.

  
Loki’s pleading gaze dropped to Clint’s hand, watching as he trailed over the impressive bulge caged behind faded denim.  The archer grinned as the god’s face underwent the familiar transformation from prey to predator, and he shoved himself upright to throw Clint over onto his back, growling as he quickly stripped his jeans off.

 

Crouching over Clint, Loki ran his hands up those tense thighs, feeling the muscles jump beneath his touch.  Dipping his head, the god mouthed at the soft skin high on Clint’s inner thigh, thrilling to the guttural moan the archer voiced.  He pressed his teeth into flesh, feeling the arch of Clint’s hips; the way his legs fell open to offer greater access, and Loki murmured, “So responsive you are, my Hawk.  Always so greedy for my mouth to be upon you.”

 

“And why wouldn’t I be,” Clint gasped as the god’s tongue licked a hot path from his inner thigh to his straining arousal.  ”You’re so… _-oh fuck-_ …good at using that mouth.”

 

Grinning wickedly, Loki slowly ran his tongue from root to tip and back again as Clint swore brilliantly, his hips twisting beneath the god’s attentions.  He repeated this action once, twice, three times more, just to drag those pleading whines that he so loved from Clint’s throat.  And then, with a quiet hum of approval, Loki swallowed him down in one smooth motion.

 

Clint’s entire body stilled when he felt his length fully engulfed in wet heat.  His hands fisted in the sheets beside his hips, his teeth gritted against a hissing breath, and his stomach trembled with the effort it took to hold back from spilling.  He could feel the tingling rising from his lower belly, tightening his chest until he could feel the ache in his throat, the urge to thrust his hips nearly overpowering.  He held himself back with a monumental effort, eyes shut to the sight of Loki moving between his legs; if he saw that image, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

 

Loki had no idea the effect he had on Clint.  He could bring him to ruin with just his _voice_ some nights, the things he would say in that purring, cultured way of his.  It was just as well Loki was oblivious, or else he might try to break Clint completely.  He didn’t want to admit just how easy that would be if he ever chose to do so.

 

That voice rumbled against his straining flesh in a moan of contentment, and Clint dared to crack his eyes open to look down, meeting that green gaze just as he began to pull off of him, slowly, playing his tongue over the underside of his cock as he went.  Clint panted and kept his eyes locked on Loki’s, watching them narrow just the slightest bit, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to the man beneath him.

 

A tiny sound escaped Clint when that teasing tongue played over the tip of his cock, and his hips stuttered forward despite his efforts to keep still.  The sheets pulled away from the bottom of the mattress as he gripped them tighter and tugged sharply before letting his head fall back.  He couldn’t watch the display much longer, or he really _would_ lose the battle with himself and spill down Loki’s more-than-willing throat.

 

But that’s not how he wanted this to end.

 

One hand untangled from the sheets to thread through Loki’s hair, giving a sharp tug to pull him up from his lap.  Loki went, reluctantly, but not before giving one last, hard suck and a pass of his tongue, causing Clint to shudder and voice a warning growl.

 

Clint pulled Loki up his body until they were panting against the others’ mouth, the god hovering over the archer with trembling arms.

 

“You’re too good at that,” Clint murmured.

 

Loki answered with a swipe of his tongue across Clint’s mouth before trapping his lower lip between his teeth and nipping lightly.  Clint growled in response and lifted from the bed, pulling Loki into his lap, his hand never leaving its nest in his hair.  They both let out a gasp as their arousals brushed against one another, and Loki pushed forward with a wanton thrust of his hips, trapping them both between the hard planes of their bellies.

 

“I think it’s time you got on this, Princess,” Clint growled against Loki’s throat, bucking his hips upwards.

 

Loki pulled back enough to catch Clint’s lust laden stare, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.  

 

“You think so, do you,” the god asked, rutting his hips forward again, dragging a moan from Clint’s throat at the harsh friction.  ”And if I wish to prolong this delicious torment?  To keep you hard and wanting beneath me?”

 

Clint growled, his eyes narrowing at Loki’s words.  The time for teasing was long past, and the beast within was demanding to be fed.  

 

“Don’t think you’d be able to hold out for too long,” he answered simply.  ”You want this just as much as I do.”  

 

At that, Clint rolled his hips up, watching Loki’s eyes drift shut in pleasure, a shuddering moan falling from his suddenly slack mouth.

 

Grinding down against the archer’s arousal, the god murmured, “How right you are, my Hawk.”  Capturing his wrists, Loki pulled Clint’s hands down to rest on his slim hips.  ”Prepare me for you,” he purred, moving sinuously atop the smaller man, each movement a testament to the god’s lust.

 

With a few whispered words from the god’s mouth, Clint found his fingers slicked and he pressed slowly into the clenching heat of Loki’s body.

 

He was doing it again, using that voice that never failed to knock Clint’s defenses down until he was willing to do anything the god said.  This time was no exception as his fingers sunk deeper within his welcoming warmth.  He held the writhing body still with one strong arm wrapped around his middle, the fingers of his other hand stretching and seeking within to open him up and find that special little spot that would have him begging for more, harder, _deeper_.

 

When Loki’s body clenched around him with a gasp, he knew he found his target.  Clint’s mouth lowered to the god’s collar bone, licking across the skin before taking it between his teeth to leave a bruise he knew would fade just as quickly as it appeared.  He pulled back to get a quick glimpse of it before it disappeared, his inner beast rumbling its approval at the mark of its claim on that pale skin.

 

Fingers working busily, Clint set about marking his territory, sucking and nipping at every bit of skin he could reach.  Loki moaned and pitched atop him, pressing forward into that punishing mouth, his hands gripping at Clint’s back, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere he could find purchase.  They finally ended harshly fisting his hair, holding him against his throat as he sucked an angry mark over his pulse.

 

Clint loosed a growling moan at the sting in his scalp, muffled by the skin between his teeth.  He pressed his fingers into the bundle of nerves that, up until now, he’d only been teasing, and Loki keened and shuddered in his lap, his eyes glassy and vacant at the sudden shock of pleasure.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Clint panted against his throat.  “Tell me, Loki, and you’ll get it.”

 

That _mouth_ , and the skill with which the archer employed it, both verbally and physically; that would be Loki’s undoing.  He simply had no idea how deeply it affected the god to hear the want in Clint’s voice.  The way his tone would go from smoke to gravel to broken glass, all based on the mortal’s need.  And when he _begged_ , that above all else drove Loki to the brink of madness.

 

This panted request had an edge of pleading to it.  Asking Loki to name something, _anything_ , and Clint would deliver.  The god felt his body respond to that in the most base and primal way, his cock twitched and he ground against the archer’s belly, moaning at the friction.

 

“I-I want you to fuck me, Clint,” Loki stammered.  ”I wish to be filled; used; broken beneath you.  I will take whatever you wish to visit upon me.  Hold back nothing.  Show me the depths of your want.   _Please_?”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Clint groaned and pressed another finger deep into Loki’s body.  ”Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

 

“Yes,” the god answered in a breathy little moan.  ”Take me… _now_.”

 

Clint twisted his fingers, prompting a ragged cry from Loki, and he pumped twice more before slowly withdrawing.  The sorrowful whimper at the loss of friction went straight to Clint’s cock, and the archer swore lightly as Loki reached between them, taking Clint’s length in hand and positioning him against the god’s entrance.  

 

Loki’s gaze burned into Clint’s own as he slowly sank down, taking every inch his Hawk had to give.

 

Clint wasn’t sure if it was Loki’s words or the way he was holding his gaze, eyes burning into his own with such need he could feel it in searing waves against his skin, but he wanted nothing more than to pin the god to the mattress and rut into him as savagely as he could.  Loki had said to hold back nothing, but did he really know just much Clint had been holding back all this time?  Did he have any idea just how deep his need for him ran?  What he was inviting with those words?

 

With a snarling growl, Clint surged up from the bed, his arms holding Loki tight to him as he lowered him to the bed and pinned him with his weight.  Loki’s startled gasp was swallowed by Clint’s crushing, bruising kiss.  His hips ground forward, his length burrowing deeper even as their bellies trapped Loki’s arousal between them.

 

Loki wailed into Clint’s mouth, overcome by the sudden assault, and Clint pulled back from the kiss to look down into the god’s stunned eyes.

 

“This deep enough for you?” he asked, and he felt Loki’s shudder through his entire body at the gravely tone of his voice.  Loki knew that tone, but he’d never felt the full extent of what it was that made him growl like a beast.

 

Clint was about to show him.

 

“N-never enough,” Loki stammered, hips arching up from the bed in a futile attempt to take the archer’s length deeper still.  ”I shall always…oh… _always_ beg for more.”  Loki’s eyes searched Clint’s, and the archer ground forward, grinning at the panting whine the god voiced at the friction against his cock.  

 

“So beg, then,” Clint growled and drew his hips back, thrilling to the sudden, frantic cries that rose from Loki’s throat.

 

The slow burn as the archer pulled his length from deep within his body caused Loki to pitch and wail, stuttering beneath him to try and regain that feeling of being so deliciously  _full_.  His hands flew to Clint’s hips, trying to goad his Hawk into motion; perhaps even force him deep again should the god’s enticement fail.

 

Clint tsk’d and shook his head, saying, “You know what I want to hear.”  He paused his retreat then, with just the head of his cock still within the slick heat of Loki’s body.  ”C’mon, Princess,” he cooed, thrusting forward just the slightest bit.  _”Beg for me._ ”

 

It wasn’t enough to simply have the god beneath him; Clint wanted to hear his voice go ragged with want.  He wanted to know that Loki’s need was just as great as his own before he unleashed the full extent of his lust.

 

Clint leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of Loki’s ear.  “Do you know what I want to do to you?” he asked in a voice that was felt more than heard.  “This bed will break before I’m even half done.”

 

Loki’s grasp on his hips tightened further and his body arched up against Clint’s with a high, gasping moan.  Clint looked down at the wanton mess beneath him, and felt the sudden urge to take that pale, gasping throat in his hand and squeeze until Loki finally relented and gave him what he needed.

 

“Looks like you want the same thing,” he rumbled, sliding his hand over the smooth skin of the god’s throat. He ran his thumb over the frantic pulse he could feel thrumming just under the skin.  “Beg for me, and you’ll get everything.”  His hand tightened, cutting off Loki’s air just enough to cause his breath to hitch.  “But you have to beg first.”

 

His grip tightened further and his eyes stayed locked on the poison-green of the god beneath him as he struggled for breath, and waited.

 

Loki bucked against the hand at his throat, his need flaring all the brighter as the archer glared down at him.  The feel of being subjugated; of having the very breath in his lungs controlled by his Hawk sending a shiver down his spine.  Never in all his long life had he allowed anyone to exert such control over him.  Never had he  _wanted_  such a thing.  

 

A switch flipped in Loki’s head then, and he was pleading brokenly, words rasping out from beneath Clint’s clenching fingers.

 

“Please,” he gasped, eyes burning up at the man above him.  ”Please take me…make me yours.  I want you so very badly.”

 

“Is that the best you can do,” Clint asked almost sorrowfully.  ”I’m starting to wonder if you really want  _this_.”  He gave a sharp, short thrust of his hips, sinking a few inches deeper into the tight confines of the god’s body before withdrawing just as quickly.

 

Loki squealed and arched beneath Clint, dragging in a shuddering breath.  His eyes narrowed as he strained against the grasp at his throat, and he brought one hand up to circle the corded forearm of his Hawk.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Loki sobbed.  ”Break me down, Clint.  Spread me open and  _fuck_  me.  Use me…make me feel every inch as you drive into my willing flesh.”  

 

Clint’s hand tightened further around the god’s slender throat, and the god hissed, “Now!  Oh, -please- now… _fuck me_ …”

 

Clint required no further proof that Loki wanted him; his desperate pleas and writhing body were more than enough to show just how very much he was needed.  He didn’t struggle away from his choking grip, he didn’t beg him to stop.  Even though Clint knew Loki was physically stronger, he made no attempt to remove his hand from around his throat; in fact, he seemed to be trying to press even harder into his grasp.

 

And that  _voice_ … He’d never heard Loki beg like this, with no thought to his pride or his station.  Asking only for what his body craved and nothing else, simply for Clint to use him any way he liked.  His hips gave a shallow thrust at the sound of that breathless, ragged tone, the god’s pride laid low by want.

 

Clint gave one last squeeze to that throat, taking in the way Loki’s eyes clouded over and rolled back, his mouth gasping soundlessly.  He could feel the thundering pulse against his palm, the cords of his neck working as he tried to pull in just one more breath…

 

And then Clint released him, and Loki’s entire body arched up against him as he took in great, heaving lungfuls of air.  His hands turned to claws, raking down his forearm and along his back, panting and gasping as if he’d been underwater for too long.

 

Clint gave him no time to recover, lunging forward and sealing his mouth over Loki’s, stealing back each breath as he took it, and pressed his hips into the writhing body beneath him, sinking deep in one fluid thrust.  Loki gave a sobbing wail into his mouth, clutching tight as Clint finally gave him what he so badly needed.

 

The pace Clint set was nothing short of brutal, pulling back in long, slow motions, and then slamming home with bone-jarring force.  He wouldn’t let Loki give voice to any of the desperate cries he was forcing out of him, swallowing each as it left his throat.  Their hips met in a harsh, savage dance, and Clint knew already that he would have bruises. 

 

It was worth it, though, to finally be able to let go as he never had with anyone else.  He let the beast inside him take over, hips moving unchecked and unrestrained, visiting every bit of the want and need and lust he felt for the god upon the willing body pinned beneath him.

 

 

Loki felt all control slipping away; that stoicism he had spent ages perfecting being torn down by Clint’s attentions.  This animalistic rutting of two bodies; all thought eclipsed by pure need and concentrated lust.  This was exactly what Loki so very badly needed.

 

He lay pinned beneath his Hawk, caught in the glare of those steel-blue eyes, the archer’s breaths escaping in a snarl from between bared teeth, and he was frozen in the face of such desire.  

 

Loki knew that Clint wanted him.  It had been proven time and again through a myriad of different actions.  The press of sharp teeth into his shoulder; the burning gaze that followed his movements as he crossed the room; the arms that twined around his body and cradled him close.  

 

But this?  This was no concession to the god’s broken nature.  This was not an attempt to placate or please.  This was need in its basest form, stripped of all pretense, and window-dressing.  No.  This told Loki all he needed to ever know about his Hawk’s deepest feelings.  

 

It was almost as if the archer was trying to devour him; to take a solid measure of the god while filling that space left behind with himself.  To make each of them part of a whole; only complete when together.  And while the very thought of such a thing would have once terrified Loki, causing him to pull back and distance himself…he now found he welcomed this cleaving of two into one.

 

Tossing his head back, Loki wailed in pleasure as Clint drove ever deeper, harder into him.  The harsh drag of his Hawk’s length brushing over that hidden spot; forcing the god ever closer to the edge.  The brutality of his motions, the snapping beat of Clint’s hips against Loki’s own jarring him to his very core.  

 

Such treatment would have broken a lesser man, but to Loki it felt very much like love.

 

Clint’s mind had gone to a place he had never allowed it to go before.  It was dangerous, and messy, and Clint was much too careful, always keeping something of himself back when he felt he might be getting in too deep. 

 

But now, looking down at the broken mess he’d made of the god beneath him, Clint knew this was different.  What he felt for Loki had passed well beyond want and settled firmly into need.  The mere thought of Loki being taken from him prompted a savage snarl to leave his throat, and his next thrust ripped a matching wail from Loki.

 

The god was taking everything Clint had to give, never asking him to stop, only urging him on as if this was what he’d needed all along. 

 

Clint dropped his head to Loki’s shoulder, unable to watch the display below any longer or he would finish before either of them were ready.  He lapped at the skin of his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat, and bit down with a savage growl when Loki’s voice rose in a pleading mewl.  He knew how much the god liked being marked with the hard press of teeth into his flesh, and Clint wasn’t about to disappoint him now.

 

Loki cried out sharply, and there was the taste of copper in his mouth.  The taste of Loki’s blood should have given him pause, but it only spurred him on further.

 

Clint hooked his arms under Loki’s knees and spread him wider, pressing as deep inside him as he could possibly go.  Loki’s body shook beneath him, his cries turned nearly to sobs, and still, Clint kept up his punishing pace, one word repeating over and over in his mind, a word he’d never thought he’d say, a word he couldn’t help but give voice to as he felt himself nearing his end.

 

_“Mine.”_

The sting of teeth; the spurt of blood; the thrust of the archer’s hips…all combined to tighten that coil of tension wrapped firmly around the base of Loki’s spine.  He keened, bucking up beneath Clint as he spread him wider, delving ever deeper as the mortal’s breathing grew ragged.

 

Twisting and writhing, the god’s vision darkened at the edges, and his mouth fell open in a shuddering sob.  ”So close, my Hawk.  So  _very_  close.”  Long fingers twined in short brown hair and he tugged Clint’s head back to lick across that red tinged mouth.  

 

Catching the archer’s lust glazed stare, Loki panted, “Make me come for you.  Mark me from within as you bring me to ruin.”

 

Clint groaned, that voice was nearly enough to cause him to spill that very moment.  

 

But first he wanted the god undone beneath him.  He wanted Loki’s screams of completion echoing in his ears as he let himself go fully and filled that pliant body to overflowing.  He needed that breathy moan; that rhythmically clenching heat.  Only then, when Loki lay sated and drained, would he allow himself his release.

 

 _“Mine,”_  he growled, still holding the god’s gaze.

 

“Yes,” Loki sighed.  ”Yours.   _Forever_  yours.  Now give me what I need, Clint.  Please?”

 

There was no holding it back, now; not with Loki’s pleas echoing in Clint’s ears, his body twisting and bucking and shuddering and clenching around him.  The tension was pooling at the base his spine, he could feel his end rapidly approaching, and Loki was right there with him, waiting for Clint to grant him release.

 

And why shouldn’t he?  Loki was  _his_ , to do with as he pleased, and right now he wanted nothing more than to watch him shatter.

 

Holding that glassy emerald gaze, Clint let his hand slide between them, brushing past the heaving, twitching muscles of the god’s stomach, scratching over the skin just below his navel to wrap around the painfully rigid flesh of his cock.

 

All thought came to an abrupt halt when Clint felt Loki’s body clamp down tight around him, and there was nothing left but need, the throbbing pressure driving him deeper into the tight heat surrounding him.  His fist moved over the throbbing length, pulling in time with the motions of his hips, and the sounds Loki made, caught somewhere between a sob and a scream, were enough to cause that building tension to snap.

 

He pulled Loki right along with him, closer to the edge of release with each thrust of his hips, each stroke of his hand.  Loki’s eyes turned pleading, silently begging for what he could no longer voice.  The breath in his lungs felt frozen, his body singing on a knife’s edge, waiting for that one little thing that would tip him over.

 

Clint leaned down, until they were sharing the same breaths, and growled, “Come for me.”

 

“Yes,” Loki cried.  ”For you.   _Only_  for you.”  His back arched then, and his hips stuttered, fucking himself up into his Hawk’s clenched fist then down onto his driving cock.  Taking each in turn; allowing his lust to guide his motions.

 

Clint hissed between clenched teeth, eyes trained on Loki’s face as the god’s mouth dropped open in a needy whimper, hands coming up to grip the sheets to either side of his head.  

 

And still Clint plied Loki’s body; plunging into him again and again, hand moving faster over his now leaking arousal.

 

 _“Come,”_  Clint snarled.  ”Now, Loki.  Let go and  _come_.”

 

The archer trembled on the verge, desperately holding back as the god’s cries rose in volume and intensity.  And just when he thought he would lose the battle, Loki’s eyes went wide, and he dragged in a great shuddering breath.  He held it for a moment, body tensed and trembling before he broke apart.  

 

Tipping back his head, the god shrieked out his completion as he painted his own chest in heated streaks of lust.  

 

Clint followed a beat later, spurred on by the intense feel of Loki clamped down so tightly around him that it was nearly painful.  He swore bitterly as his hips surged forward, burying himself fully as spilled deep in Loki’s belly.

 

Loki twisted and bucked beneath Clint, his Hawk’s heat pooling inside his body, drawing his own orgasm out until the god thought he would go mad from the sensation.  And still the waves of pleasure refused to abate, prompting a ragged sob to spill from between his lips.  

 

Leaning down, Clint captured Loki’s mouth in a lazy kiss, swallowing his cries as he rolled his hips, wringing every drop from the broken god pinned beneath him.

 

Loki trembled beneath him, his cries turning desperate as his body remained locked in the throes of his release.  Clint groaned into the sobbing mouth and gave one last rock of his hips, pushing a muffled wail from Loki’s throat.  Then he came to rest buried deep within, waiting for the god’s body to calm.

 

It seemed to go on forever, as he slowly stepped down from his high, his breath ragged and spent.  Clint gazed down at him with as near to awe as he ever came, wondering if it was possible he might have gotten Loki to come again if he hadn’t relented. 

 

Then Loki’s arms were sliding around his back, pulling him close until he was resting on the god’s still-heaving chest, his head nestled under Loki’s chin.  Long, slender fingers carded through his hair, soothing the beast back into its lair, now that it had gotten its fill.  Clint heaved a contented sigh and settled himself over Loki’s body, ignoring the sticky traces of the other man’s lust in favor of listening to the strong, steady beat of the thumping heart below his ear.

 

After a few long moments, when they’d both gotten their breath back and would have easily dropped back into slumber, Clint spoke, his voice heavy and rough with a sated rumble.

 

“I meant it, you know,” he said, his arms curling around Loki’s back, holding him tightly.

 

“And what would that be, my Hawk?” Loki questioned, scratching his nails lightly over Clint’s scalp and causing the other man to shiver.

 

“About being mine,” he said simply. 

 

Loki was silent for many beats, and Clint was suddenly as unsure about his answer as he’d ever been about anything in his life.

 

The silence stretched out.  

 

Loki’s fingers still stroked softly through Clint’s hair as the archer damned himself for ever speaking aloud those three words.  And just when the tension became nigh unbearable, Loki’s hands lifted Clint’s face up to meet his gaze.  The god’s brows were drawn together, and his eyes searched his Hawk’s for a long moment before he spoke.

 

“A-are you certain of this,” Loki asked hesitantly.  ”Do you truly wish to claim me as yours?”

 

“Yes,” Clint answered immediately.

 

“My love is not an easy burden to bear, my Hawk.”  Loki paused then, his eyes clouding with worry.  ”I…am not well liked, and have more than my fair share of enemies.  If you choose to cleave to me, it may put you in danger.”

 

“Don’t care,” Clint breathed.  ”We’ll deal with that as it comes.  I just want you, Loki.  I want you to be mine.  For as long as you’ll have me.”

 

The worry drained from the god’s eyes, replaced by something softer, and as Clint held his gaze, Loki nodded once, offering a small smile.

 

“Yes, then,” he murmured.  ”If you are certain; then yes.  I will be yours, and wear your claim, for as long as you wish.” 

 

Clint had to fight the urge to say anything more.  He’d already said more than he ever meant to, and he still wasn’t quite over the moment of terror he’d felt after opening his mouth the first time.  Words were never really his strong suit, he tended to say exactly the wrong thing sometimes, and with Loki, there was a lot more at stake.

 

But it turned out all right, and Clint didn’t want to take the risk of fouling things up.  He kept his mouth shut and simply let Loki’s acceptance settle in his mind. 

 

Honestly, he didn’t know  _what_  prompted him to say that.  In the moment, he hadn’t really been thinking all too clearly, and it had just… slipped out.  But after?  He wasn’t usually one for pillow talk, but something within him needed reassurance that Loki was  _his_. That he  _wanted_ to be his, and his alone.  

 

Because he already belonged to Loki.  The god just didn’t know it yet.

 

Loki watched the war of emotion being waged in Clint’s face; caged behind those steel-blue eyes.  Relief, hope and joy cycling at such a rapid pace that the god could scarcely identify each before it was replaced.  The archer’s mouth opened slightly before curving into a gentle smirk, and Loki pushed up to kiss him.

 

It was a slow, languid kiss; one that contained all of Loki’s conviction.  He poured every bit of his pent-up emotions into it, hoping that Clint was able to feel how pleased the god was at wearing the archer’s claim; how pleased he was that Clint even desired such a thing.

 

Breaking the kiss, Clint dropped his chin to Loki’s chest, keeping that sniper’s gaze trained on the thoroughly satisfied god, even while fighting to keep his eyelids from drifting shut.  

 

Loki huffed out an amused little laugh and pulled the blankets up over them both, saying, “You look drained, my Hawk.  I believe that you have earned your rest.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Clint yawned, slipping off to Loki’s side and pulling the god’s back tight against his chest.  ”A nap sounds good right about now.”

 

Loki’s hand came up to wrap around Clint’s nape, scratching lightly.  ”Yes.  Sleep,” he murmured.  ”And maybe it be deep and dreamless.”

 

Clint nuzzled his face into Loki’s hair, breathing deeply of the god’s scent.  

 

“Let’s hope,” he mumbled as slumber took him.

 

 

 

 

  
  
  


 

                                                                                                 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is very welcomed.


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